The Trouble
by Mercury Gray
Summary: The Shelby Family isn't usually what someone would call charitable. But charity begins at home, and a new settlement house in Small Heath (and the rather troublesome woman who runs it) may make them change their tune.
1. Chapter 1

The Trouble

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><p>The trouble began over Sunday dinner.<p>

The Shelby family was never really what one would call 'domestic.' For various reasons, cherished familial standbys like evening meals, walks in the park, or charabanc trips to the shore were never given an opportunity to take root in the house on Watery Lane, leaving all five Shelby children firmly beyond the reach of Victorian respectability. Not, of course, that five children from Small Heath with a n'er do well for a father had much of a chance with Respectability anyway.

But Aunt Polly was determined that her brother's children would have some small semblance of family life. And thus, the institution of Sunday Dinner. Almost as sacred as the almighty Family Meeting, it was a standing appointment none of them would break.

John, now married and with a family and wife of his own to do the cooking, was, naturally, excused from compulsory attendance, but his brothers, bound by their present bachelorhood, still trooped out of their rooms on Sunday nights for dinner at Aunt Polly's large, plain table. Nothing extravagant - a single woman raising five children has no room in her housekeeping money for extravagance - but good, plain food, and plenty of it for five growing children, or now, two grown (and one growing) men.

There was usually little talk at Sunday Dinner, those bits of news deemed important saved for Family Meeting or for the office, the next day. If a piece of information was thought to be of immediate use or entertainment, it might be brought out around dessert, or when the plates had been cleared for the after-dinner smoke. But tonight, quite in the middle of his bowl of stew and before anyone had even thought of pudding, Finn set his spoon down and cleared his throat in anticipation. "Wecklin's got a new tenant," he offered. "In that big old wreck on King Street."

His eldest brother, torn between the traditional silence of Sunday dinner and the desire for more data, was the first to speak. "D'we know who it is?" He asked, sounding outraged at the prospect of some outsider making inroads into Small Heath. Wecklin, a large local landowner, held the lease on more than several lodging houses and buildings in the area. The 'big old wreck,' as Finn had called it, was one of his less desirable properties, a storefront that had not been able to keep a tenant owing, perhaps, to the neighborhood's general tendency not to pay tradesmen in a timely fashion.

"No-one from 'round here," Finn offered. "Bunch of women. Cleaning everything out this afternoon."

Arthur, not sure what to do with this information in the present moment, returned fuming to his stew, while Aunt Pol and Tommy considered the intelligence. "Did they say what they wanted it for?" Pol asked, laying her own spoon aside.

"Sounded like a school," Finn offered. "Brought in a load of books off a motorcar while I was watching."

"Prayer books?" Polly's voice was sharp with disdain. Religious though she was, she didn't hold at all with missionary sentiment, especially of what she called the 'paper-thin Protestant' variety.

"Didn't see," the youngest Shelby offered with a helpless shrug. His aunt glared at him, but said nothing, and turned her piercing, thoughtful look on her middle nephew, who had, as was his habit, said nothing during the whole exchange.

"We'll see the place tomorrow," Thomas offered thoughtfully from his end of the table, leaning laconically back in his chair; Finn's news had not interrupted his dinner as it had his brother's. Unlike his aunt, Thomas liked to consider his facts before jumping to conclusions, and unlike Arthur, he did not live in fear of anyone, up to and including pale-faced parsons, encroaching on his territory. "Maybe the young ladies need protection. They may not know it's a bad neighborhood."

He said this mainly to soothe Arthur, who seemed calmed at the thought of making a profit out of their new neighbors, but behind his calm gaze and the steady hands reaching for his matches and cigarettes, Thomas Shelby was still thinking. New tenants in Wecklin's wreck, when the storefront had been empty for ages. Mr. Wecklin didn't lease to just anyone, least of all local people - didn't trust anyone. They must have shown themselves trustworthy, somehow. And they weren't running a shop - there wasn't a market for books in Small Heath. A school, perhaps, as Finn suggested, but the wreck wasn't large enough for that. And he doubted the good, god-fearing people who started missions would have anything to do with Small Heath.

No use speculating now. As he'd said, they'd see the place tomorrow, and make a decision after a little more intelligence was gathered.

Like all the others on the street, the King Street storefront had a strong shine of coke-dust on its front windows where there was still glass, and a grimy sign that had at one time announced the name of some long-gone proprietor. Today, however, it distinguished itself from its peers by having not one, but two large lorries out front, from which a strange assortment of domestic equipment (several ranges, brooms, crates marked 'COOKING POTS') and school supplies (desks, chairs, blackboards) was being unloaded.

There were a few teamsters doing most of the heavy lifting, but the real leadership seemed to be coming from a small, determined knot of women, some carrying the smaller boxes inside, one reading from a list of packing cases, and another group directing the hanging of a freshly painted sign on the facade of the building, the words "Small Heath Settlement House" jumping off the facade in electric white.

"What's a settlement house, when it's at home?" Finn, who had come along for the walk, asked expectantly.

Tommy remembered reading about some such place in the newspaper, a large house in London where middle class women with no better occupation taught classes people didn't need and gave lectures on subjects no one had ever heard of. Not directly religious - at least that would make Pol happy. "A lot of women where they don't belong," he said shortly, and slightly under his breath.

Loitering in the street watching the parade of supplies, it was quite a while before anyone took any notice of them. One of the women stepped outside to converse with the tall brunette directing the teamster traffic, and, looking across the street, noticed the two young men observing their front door.

"Can we help you?" she called, somewhat harshly, across the cobblestones.

Tommy disengaged himself from the wall and crossed the street, as if to say, _At least my mother taught me it's impolite to shout across streets_. "Good morning," he said, in what Arthur called his dangerous business voice, "I'd like to speak to the rent-holder, if that's possible?"

"And who's asking for her?' the shorter newcomer, who from the state of her apron had just been scrubbing floors, asked dismissively, hands on her hips. Her taller companion said nothing, content, it seemed, to observe her friend from behind the shelter of her clipboard.

"Thomas Shelby. I'm a businessman in the neighborhood."

"No relation to the bookmaker, are you?" the small, opinionated one asked peevishly. The taller one looked on with the air of an owner still deciding whether to call off her dog, her gaze sliding watchfully between her companion and Thomas.

Thomas smiled. "Actually, I am the bookmaker."

"She's not here at the moment," the taller one spoke, finally, laying a hand on the other woman's arm. "Shall I have her call, when she's back?"

Thomas marveled at the sort of women who would ask 'to call', noting that both women spoke with what he would have labeled a posh accent. She was looking at him as though she expected him to refuse the invitation, and in earlier days he might have, but Thomas Shelby was legitimate now, and he liked to observe niceties. He also liked to surprise self-righteous, interfering spinsters who assumed the worst of him. "My card," he said pleasantly, pulling the thin slip of heavy, cream-colored card out of a special wallet he kept for the purpose. Thomas Shelby, Managing Director, No. 6 Watery Lane, Small Heath. He loved the look of surprise on the small woman's face for a moment and then said, with an air of superiority, "We are in the office most days until five," and then, collecting Finn from his position across the street, walked home.

"Well?" Finn asked, studying his older brother's eternally inscrutable face as they walked back to Watery Lane.

"We'll get plenty of noise from them," Tommy said sagely, once they were a safe distance away from the women at the front door. "But we'll give them a little bit of time to get settled before we give them any back," he added with a grin. "Only neighborly, isn't it?"

Finn grinned, and, dreaming up all manner of demonic tricks to be played on settlement house spinsters, followed his brother back to the office with a new spring in his step.

For a week, the storefront on King Street was quiet with preparations, and Thomas Shelby sent more eyes and ears to pick up whatever bits and pieces of information dropped off the lorries along with medical supplies, colored chalks, and cans of paint. He knew, now, that Wecklin had rented the storefront because the head of the group was an aristocrat with a fancy name, that they were interested mainly in providing art classes and reading groups and some kind of free clinic, which sounded like a bunch of nonsense for a neighborhood like this one, and that they were, as Finn's intelligence had first suggested, all women, most of them living in a sort of dormitory on the third floor, although some of them were also said to rent rooms nearby.

And then, nearly two weeks after Tommy and Finn had made their initial introduction, their call was returned.

It was a busy day at Shelby Brothers limited, the air buzzing with the anticipated results of two weeks of work talking up the latest offerings for Cheltenham and the other tracks.

Busy enough that a gap of strong silence would not go unnoticed in Thomas Shelby's office. Yet go silent it did, when a person of unknown origin walked in the front door. Tommy, engrossed in his morning paper, did not immediately see the source of the silence, but it was enough to make him stop reading, even if he did not put down his paper, and hear his name invoked out in the front office.

"Is Mr. Thomas Shelby in the office?" It was a lady's voice, upper class and polished.

"And who's asking?" Scudboat asked suspiciously.

"You may tell him that the Honorable Theodora Carteret is here to see him," the woman announced. If it was quiet before, the room stopped dead at that. An Honorable, in the offices of Shelby Brothers Limited? It beggared belief. And – what, no motor outside? And she'd _walked_ here, too. "You will find I have an appointment," she added imperiously into the silence.

Thomas rose from his chair and walked over to the doorframe, leaving his jacket on the hook by the door. Let her take his shirtsleeves as she would. He was a Shelby, and he did as he pleased. The woman was in the middle of the room, her back turned towards him. A tall, beautiful back, Thomas was interested to see, in a long, expensive jacket, leading down to expensively silk-clad legs and beautiful, unscuffed shoes. Esme, over by the chalkboard, was almost radiant with envy. Everything about this woman screamed money - Tommy was even willing to bet that her hat hadn't come from anywhere in England. "I'm Thomas Shelby," he announced into the still room, and, almost as one, the gazes in the office turned towards him, every pair of eyes wondering what he'd do next.

But the Honorable Theodora Carteret turned a little more slowly than the rest, and, seeing her face, Tommy had to blink away a bit of surprise - it was the taller brunette with the clipboard. Hair immaculate, without the apron and away from the grimy shop front, she looked like a completely different person, more at home in the royal enclosure at Ascot than the backlanes of Birmingham. Her smile curled a little. He _hadn't_ hidden his surprise that well.

"Mr. Shelby," she said, offering him her hand as though meeting the heads of large gambling firms were as natural to her as breathing. "Theodora Carteret. You left your card for me the other day. My apologies for the lateness of the call. We've been very busy over at the House." She said 'house' like it implied an Adam mansion, not a begrimed three-floor storefront off King Street.

"No apology needed," Tommy said, equally at home in his role as the implacable head of a respectable firm. She shook his hand like a man would, with a firm grip. _An iron fist in a velvet glove_ sprang to Tommy's mind, though her gloves were ivory-tanned kidskin. "My office is just this way." He held out an arm to escort her back to his little glass-walled cell, and, leaving the staff of Shelby Brothers Limited staring slackly at the vision that had just sat down across from their leader's desk, closed the door behind him, smiled briefly at the rest of the room and pulled the shades.

"You might have introduced yourself the other day," Tommy said, sitting down at his own desk and shuffling aside the morning's paper along with any other pleasantries. She didn't seem the type to need them.

"I wouldn't have wanted to put you out," Theodora said pleasantly. "I understand you're a man who doesn't like surprises, Mr. Shelby. It wouldn't do, to be introduced to a peer in the street." Her smile curled a little devilishly.

"Have you heard a lot about me, then?" Tommy asked, studying this woman and wondering in which of her posh schools she'd learned the art of doing business as he was accustomed to doing it.

"I make it a point to know all my neighbors, Mr. Shelby. My landlord, Mr. Wecklin, was most informative. And when so many of our clients at the House make a point of mentioning you, it was only fair that I return the compliment of a call from such a ...respected name."

Damn the woman. She had heard a lot about him, to make that comment about surprises, when she'd been trying to surprise him since she walked in the door.

"I am glad I am found so," Tommy said, neither confirming nor denying the exact nature of the'respect' given him by the rest of the neighborhood.

"Though, I must confess, I was amazed to hear from our residents that a man of your stature has such interest in our little organization."

"No more than anyone else on the street, I would think."

"But no one else on the street has had a man sitting across the street every day watching our residents and asking questions," Theodora said, her voice sweet and meaning anything but sweetness. Tommy was suddenly strongly and unpleasantly reminded of Aunt Pol. "You insinuated you had something to talk over with me."

All business, then. Well, if that was the way she wanted to play. "I'm interested in making a donation to your work."

She smiled. "Really? Do tell. What sort of donation? Mischief? Mayhem? Rocks through windows? The harassment of our residents?"

_So she does know us._ He had joked with Finn about getting trouble from the Settlement House, but Tommy was beginning to get the idea he may have underestimated the spinsters, or at least, this one. Well, if she could play dirty, then so could he. "Fifty pounds," he said promptly. That, at least, stopped her, though she was equally good at hiding her surprise.

"Most generous of you. I should not have thought philanthropy was in your line."

"Oh, we always like to give back to the neighborhood, Miss Carteret, as it's been so good to us and our business. Though usually, with a donation of that size, we look for...goods and services in kind. A mention of our name here and there." His gaze seized hers and the two of them sat for a moment in silent conversation. _If we give you this money, you will dance to the tune we give you._

"For such a generous offering, we would be glad to give you a tour of the House, Mr. Shelby." _I know what you want, and I will give you the endorsement of respectability if you are seen to endorse us._

"Most kind. We like to see where our money goes. Shall we come by on Friday?"

I'm afraid Friday would be terribly inconvenient, with the free clinic meeting then. Saturday, perhaps, but no sooner." She rose from the chair without more comment, and gathered up her handbag. "Well, this has been a most wonderful first meeting, Mr. Shelby, but I really must be getting back to the House. Lots to do."

Tommy rose and opened the door, clearing his throat at the rather poor imitation of work everyone had sprang back to. The gaze of everyone in the office was pointedly focused on the task at hand, even if money was not moving and pens did not dispense ink, every person oddly silent and straining to hear their lord and master.

"My staff and I shall look forward to seeing you on Saturday, then," Miss Carteret said with a smile, holding out a hand again.

"We will be very pleased to see the place," Tommy said, for the benefit of the rest of the room.

Business concluded, Theodora turned to the rest of the room, smiled politely and nodded to everyone's silent study of her, and stepped back out into the street, begging the pardon of Aunt Polly, who was just coming in.

Tommy, however, had not really seen any of the business at the door. He was too busy considering Theodora's last words, the way that she had nimbly stepped around his own invitation and replaced it with one of her own. She'd be ready by Thursday, if he said he'd be there Friday, and she'd stay ready if he decided to be late and hold out until Sunday. That last look of hers had been in deadly earnest, the eyes and smile that coldly and ever so seriously said _If you think you can run me, Thomas Shelby, you're __**wrong.**_

"That woman," Aunt Pol observed knowledgeably, watching Miss Carteret stroll calmly down the lane, "will be trouble."

_And don't I know it,_ Tommy observed to himself.

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><p>Let me begin by saying that I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. (But do any of us really know what we're doing, honestly?) I can't find a history of Birmingham at six different libraries, ditto a good book on organized crime in England, ditto information on urban dwellings in the 20th century West Midlands, ditto a dozen other topics I will need to make this a well-informed story. And I've never been to Birmingham, so <em>Mea culpa <em>to the good citizens of that city.

But after watching season one of Peaky Blinders, I had this sudden image of this upper-class woman who wanted to try and figure Tommy out, who was just as determined and just as stubborn and who knew a thing or two about having feelings and experiences that you don't talk about, and then I had to find a way to get her into Small Heath, where she clearly didn't belong and suddenly, Jane Addams and Hull House surfaced, and Small Heath Settlement House, the perfect way to put a strange fish in stranger water, appeared.

So here we are, testing the waters on a story I'm not even sure will work. There's a two year gap between season one and season two. Say that this happens then.

If you enjoyed Theo and Tommy's little tete-a-tete, feel free to say so in the comments and we'll see what we can do.


	2. Chapter 2

The Trouble: Chapter Two

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><p>Finn inspected the clean-collared, starch-stiffened version of himself in the pier-glass near the kitchen and grimaced.<p>

"What are we doing all this for, anyway?" he asked, making a half-hearted gesture to the rest of the room, which was filled with the rest of his family, lounging about the sitting room in similar states of dress, Tommy and Arthur's shirtfronts impressively white, Aunt Polly's hat sporting a particularly ostentatious feather and Esme's little beaded reticule clattering with self-importance as she straightened the children's collars.

"Because Tommy likes to give a nice first impression," Arthur drawled, only half-serious, from the love-seat, exchanging a knowledgeable glance with John, who also grinned, and then busied himself with helping Esme break up a bit of horseplay between two of his offspring, who were perilously close to disrupting their fine Sunday attire.

Tommy frowned briefly at both of his brothers and the minor scuffle, and strode over to the glass, standing behind Finn. The boy was getting tall - tall enough to see himself and his brother in the little slip of mirror. When he spoke, it was for Finn's ears alone, the soft, serious voice that Tommy only used when he was in deadly earnest. "Because her brothers were officers with batsmen and china cups and tailored uniforms, and your brothers fought in the dirt of Flanders - like real men. Her people sent gifts we couldn't use and empty promises that wouldn't feed us and got rich off of the suffering of our lot, and now they want to use that wealth to help us. We need to show her we don't need her kind of help at all."

Finn's eyes were glazed with an emotion he couldn't name, but he didn't show the recognition Tommy was seeking to explain. He turned his brother away from the mirror and laid his hands on the youngest Shelby's shoulders, locking his brother's gaze in his own. "She'll look at you and she'll see Small Heath mud, Finn, even if you've got none on you. She thinks she's better than us," Tommy said strongly, "And I want to prove her wrong."

Overcome, Finn nodded vigorously, and turned quickly away so that his brother would not see the quiver in his cheek.

But Tommy saw everything, and he allowed himself a private smile before turning on the rest of his family and declaring "Right, we're off, then!" and leading the charge out the door.

Didn't they make a sight, driving (in two cars, Tommy's and John's, else they wouldn't have fit) down to King Street on a Saturday morning in their Sunday clothes. Small Heath knew the Shelby family to be smart dressers, but Sunday suits on Saturday morning beggared belief. Especially when both cars parked a respectful distance down the street from the Small Heath Settlement House, and walked to the door.

Usually, when paying a call, there would be the social niceties like ringing a bell or, as was more usually the case in Small Health, knocking on the door and waiting for an answer on the stoop. But there was no such luck here - the door was already wide open to all comers, with a nicely lettered sign tacked to the door asking for all deliveries to be brought around the back. Arthur, who had lead the group out of the cars, pulled up short, glancing around at the rest of them with momentary confusion, and had to be prompted by Aunt Poll to actually head inside the building before their little parade turned into an unsightly, confused mess on the front steps. The Shelbys were never confused or caught out - the Shelbys always had a plan, and it never involved milling on doorsteps like sheep without a shepherd.

The storefront was unrecognizable from the inside. The walls having been given what must have been their first new coat of paint in decades (a nice slate blue, bright but hard-wearing), and the front room was filled with light from the large front window. The counter had been re-stained and waxed to a tremendous shine, and the shelves behind it, once built for dry goods and cans, now held a wide variety of baby goods - bottles, blankets, booties, and several stacks of pamphlets whose titles were not immediately visible. Along another wall of shelves a large variety of books peeked out into the room, several volumes sporting gilt letters along their spines. There was a hum of voices from a back room, and before any of the Shelbys could even think about going to investigate, a young woman emerged from the open doorway, all pleasant smiles.

"You must be Mr. Shelby," she said, shaking hands with Tommy, who by now had moved to the front of the group. "I'm Lydia Pritchard, one of the teachers here. Theo said we'd be expecting you this morning. We're so pleased that you've come to see our work."

It was not the welcome Tommy was expecting. At the very least he'd expected the short, irate woman from two weeks ago to chivvy them about, or for Miss Carteret herself to be waiting out front, ready to meet them in the road. The pause at the steps, the uncertain emptiness of the front room, and then, like a bolt out of the blue, Lydia Pritchard's open, helpful smile and enthusiastic handshake, however, were not anticipated. They were treating him like...well, like...

Damn that woman again. She'd put out the outrageously cheerful Lydia to treat him like the well-heeled businessman he attempted to be, in the hopes that she'd trip him up or catch him out. Just like her own calculated appearance in the offices of Shelby Brothers Limited, she wanted to test him, judge him, and see how he'd react.

"Theo is upstairs in her office, if you'll wait one moment," Lydia was saying. "If you'll wait here I can go fe-

"No need to fetch me, Lydia, I'm here. I heard them come in." The group turned as one to the tall, aristocratic figure of Theodora Carteret in the doorway, smiling enigmatically. "Mr. Shelby," she said, holding her hand out for another handshake, firm and fair. "And this must be your family," she said, turning to the assembled multitude with a pleased smile.

Well, no time to brood now. Introductions were in order and he would not disappoint. "Miss Carteret, allow me to introduce my aunt, Polly Gray." There was another firm handshake for Polly, returned by an equally firm, searching look for Miss Carteret. "My older brother, Arthur Shelby." Arthur received a handshake as well, he who was so used to beautiful women wrapping themselves around the promise of power with groveling and simpering looks momentarily surprised by the woman's businesslike demeanor and absolutely no interest in catering to any of his whims. "My younger brother, John Shelby, and his wife, Esme, and his children. This is Jack, and Mabel, and Jasper, and the youngest is Martha."

The children, well-behaved more on account of the shock and strangeness of being in a new place than anything else, studied Theo with childish calculation, wondering, as their parents did, if this strange woman was friend or foe. Martha, only two, hid behind her stepmother's skirts and would not budge, but Jack (or John, Junior, when his father was very proud of him) teetered for a moment, and then, in parody of his adult minders, stuck out his hand to be shaken, his face grave. Theo's face broke into an unpredicted smile and she shook hands with all the gravitas afforded to his uncles. Inspired by their elder brother's example, Mabel and Jasper both stuck their hands out as well, though Jasper, at four, put his hand out palm up as though expecting a sweet, which detracted a little bit from the mock solemnity.

"A very great pleasure to meet you all," Theodora said, her voice oddly genuine. She paused, and then bent down. "Master Jasper, I think you will find something has fallen out of your pocket," she whispered, glancing tellingly at the floor, where one of Jasper's handkerchiefs, wrapped around a stub of obviously old toffee (judging by the bits of lint and debris attached) had landed as he had pulled his hand out of his pocket. Jasper swiped the handkerchief and its contents off the floor and shoved the whole mess back in his pocket, glancing first at Theo and then at his stepmother, who was glaring at him for doing something so undignified.

"And this is my youngest brother, Finn," Tommy finished, trying to move past the undeniable humanity of a four-year old filching sweets. Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring them.

"I think we've met before," Theodora said, shaking hands with Finn as she had the others. Finn looked a little ashamed, and he colored behind his collar. Good manners prevented Miss Carteret from making any comment, and she breezed on, cool as anything.

"Well, we're so delighted you all could join us today. Shall we?"

She ushered them into the back room - a classroom, albeit a very empty one, save for four or five exceptionally small students and their teacher at the front. "This is our nursery school class," Theodora Carteret explained, "All three through five year olds who don't yet go to the council school, to get them out of their mothers' way for three or four hours a day. They get breakfast here, and playtime, and we begin their reading lessons with them. There's a lot of wonderful research being done now about how children who are read to from an early age..."

And thus began the Shelby family's lessons on the program of good works at Small Heath Settlement.

Tommy had not been an earnest student during his school days, short though they had been. Teachers routinely complained that he was a bright spark, knew his times tables and his grammar and could recite and copy with the best, that he would make a fine clerk someday if he could but settle down, stop running wild with those hooligan Gypsy uncles of his, and actually come to school. It was not that Thomas Shelby didn't want to learn, only that the topics covered in the local council school did not pique his interest. And why should they, when he could learn all he wanted about biology and physiology by watching his uncles exercise and care for their horses, physics in the weights and pulleys of the dockyards and mathematics problems by the score in the columns and grubby papers of the family betting books?

School may have held very little to interest Thomas Shelby as a child, but Small Heath Settlement House, itself one very large, very comprehensive school, held much to interest him now. They were his streets and his people - what should they want for? Apparently, quite a lot. There was the nursery school class and the free milk program, meant to salve the lot of Small Heath's overburdened mothers, the play groups that would keep their older brothers off the streets, the sewing and cooking circles that would help their older sisters gain employment as cooks and maids or erase deficiencies in their future careers as mothers, the study groups for all children that would fill in the gaps that their council school education left out and their parents could not help with, the reading circles for their fathers and much-older brothers where the social and political topics of the day would be discussed, and the free clinic that would put some distance between the nightmarish outbreaks of diphtheria, typhoid, and that awful 'flu.

All this from a storefront on King Street, staffed by ten or so women who'd never even played on streets like this and had never known what it was like not to be able to feed your children because milk was too expensive, rationing was in high favor, and Dad (and Dad's pay envelope) was away at the war.

It was astounding. Oh, patronizing, perhaps, for Aunt Polly, who hated to be found wrong in anything she did and who took all of the polite programs of the House as a criticism of her own housekeeping, and painfully domestic for Arthur and John, who spent much of the tour with their daydreams alternating between their pints in the Garrison, the promise of what was for dinner that evening, and (for Arthur) about the fine legs of Miss Carteret. But astounding, absolutely astounding, for Tommy. Here was another person who dared to dream big. And even if he hated to think that his people needed the kind of charity on offer, and Miss Carteret's officer-class background galled him, the sheer scope of it all was bloody impressive.

They ended their tour in the back room, a kind of canteen with long tables and benches where the nursery school breakfast could be served and the reading groups could meet and have tea. The kitchen at the end of the room was pressed into service for the Shelby family tea as a kind of cap to the end of the tour, and everyone settled in with their rummage sale teacups to take a load off their feet and process what they had just seen. Lydia Prichard joined them, as well as several of the other teachers and residents, coming in from their afternoon rounds of the neighborhood, jolly and welcoming and eager, so eager to meet their guests and thank them for coming.

Polly, in particular, was in a bad mood, and her eyes kept darting to the end of the room, where her nephew was standing observing the proceedings with his calm, practiced gaze. _She'll have a lot to say when we get home, for she won't speak here. Let her wait with it._

"So." Theo Carteret emerged at his elbow with two cups of strong, murky tea, demanding his attention in her single syllable. "Do we pass your muster, Mr. Shelby?"

"It is all very impressive," Tommy admitted, taking a cup from her with no intention of consuming it yet.

"But..." Miss Carteret let the single syllable out to taunt him and took a sip of her tea while she waited for his reply.

"My aunt was not pleased about some of the items offered by your clinic." A stack of pamphlets by Marie Stopes, somewhat hidden and never alluded to on tour, another pamphlet containing contents well known to veterans of the army's campaign against VDs, and the box of prophylactics that went with them.

"Only for married women, and only when they ask," she said promptly, knowing exactly what he referred to. "And some of our ex-soldiers, when identified by the clinic." Her voice told him this was not a battle Polly's opinions would win. Tommy went on.

"The reading room contained several books of a...reactionary nature." A quick review of the shelves revealed Marx, Engels, and the works of several Fabians that no self-respecting bookstore would stock. Freddie Thorne would be in heaven.

"Meant only for healthy public discussion of the issues. Records will be kept of who takes the books out, if the relevant authorities want to know." Theo studied him for a moment, and added judiciously, "The working classes in this country have a right to participate in their political processes and know how they work." Another sip, another calm, daring glance, another battle he would not win.

Well, if that was the way she was going to play. He had one more bullet in the chamber, and he meant to use it. "Your friend Miss Skinner seems to take very poorly to the idea of gambling."

The teacup came down and the smile became a little more brittle. Finally, a charge she could not deny. Madeline Skinner, the short shrill woman who had shouted at them on that first day out in the street, the sergeant-major to Theo Carteret's captain among the ranks of the settlement house, had not had very many nice words to say on the subject of gambling and bookmaking. Tommy had been afraid Aunt Polly would slap the younger woman as she went off, in the middle of a perfectly civil discussion about the free clinic and the nursery school breakfast, about how much better off the people of Small Heath would be if they saved their money from the bookies and spent it on their families. It was not an off-hand remark, either - she had known to whom she was speaking and she went in with guns blazing with deliberation.

Yes, that had hurt, more than the feeble little faces in the schoolroom. How dare she say that they, Shelby Brothers, Limited, were taking food out of the mouths of innocent children and tempting their mothers, their fathers, their older siblings, away from the primrose path of righteousness and temperance by spending their little free coin on a flutter on the races! How dare she deny them their little bit of fun, their sole bright spark. Betting gave a man hope, gave him something to look forward to at the end of his working week! And if someone made money on his honest fun, well, who were they to judge that man? At least, that was what Tommy told himself sometimes. He wasn't sure anymore if it was true. But these were the lies, Tommy always reminded himself, that any man in any dubious business told himself. In this, even the war profiteer and the factory owner and, yes, the humble street-corner bookmaker were alike.

"I am not sure," Tommy began, taking a well-timed sip of his cooling tea, "that Shelby Brothers, Limited can, in good conscience, support an enterprise that has such views." He let that sink in, and took another leisurely sip for effect. Theodora Carteret's smile hadn't moved, though her eyes had clouded up with inward fighting spirit. Now he had her. "Indeed, we might be forced to be very...public about our disappointment in your organization."

The directress of Small Heath Settlement House considered the proposition, imagining the consequences of their 'public disappointment'...rocks through windows, dung thrown at their newly painted walls. "And if Miss Skinner were to find some way of... quieting her views?"

"We might be persuaded."

A long, even nod. "Any other requests?" Now - now! - she was in retreat, and Tommy Shelby the soldier was going to let her give up whatever ground she wanted before he lead his last charge and routed her.

"No mentions made within these walls of the …. _perceived_ evils of gambling," he began, hiding any obvious smiles at his victory. "No direct harassment or shame for any one of our employees or anyone who frequents them. No mention of temperance or any attempts to make anyone sign the pledge. Bad for the business interests of the neighborhood, you know."

Miss Carteret considered all these things, her gaze drifting out across the canteen to the rest of the Shelbys at the far end of the room and her motley crew of teachers and nurses, chattering happily. Was she imagining the consequences of her decision, or was her gaze just following an invisible horizon on the back wall? Tommy drank more of his tea. He was a patient man. He would let her consider all she liked.

"Done." Her voice had the sharp finality of an auctioneer's, and the quickness of her answer and lack of resistance surprised him. Was she really going to make it that simple for him? Had he made it too simple? Was there room for more negotiations? Tommy's eye was caught by the glint of sunlight on dull gold near the room's doorway - a list of the Settlement House's donors in gilt paint. Our Generous Patrons, the title read.

"We will, of course, be added to the wall?" It was both a statement and a question, just a little bit of defiance to add a little more sting to his victory. The name of a notorious family on the wonderful, morally white walls of her little charity school.

She fixed her gaze across the room with the same straight serious look she'd held in place for their entire negotiation. "For a hundred pounds, Mr. Shelby, we might even paint you in at the top of the list."

Tommy, after a moment of surprise at her daring, let out a laugh, causing everyone else in the room to turn. Theodora Carteret allowed herself a smile, as though she'd been in the middle of telling a joke. But she hadn't been joking, and that was why Tommy was laughing. It was, as parting shots go, a very bold one. She'd doubled the price on his bid for respectability without even batting an eyelash, prepared to let it all go up in smoke if he did not match her bet.

Had she been planning this whole time to ask for more money, or had that been decided on the spot?

Did it matter?

Did he care?

"Who taught you to gamble, Miss Carteret?" Tommy asked, still chuckling at her cheek.

"My father. Though he usually loses," she added.

"A great friend to the bookmaker, then. You'll have to introduce me some day."

Now it was Miss Carteret's turn to laugh. "Only when I am that desperate for your good favor, Mr. Shelby," she said darkly. It was an unguarded remark, the kind one makes to a friend in whose company one feels comfortable and safe. _So we are to be friends, then. Or allies._ Tommy saved that thought for later. "Your aunt looks like she'd like to murder me," Theodora observed, hiding behind her tea cup once more.

"We should probably be going," Tommy agreed. "This has been a most instructive visit, Miss Carteret. We will look forward to a very long and...ah, productive relationship."

"It will be instructive for everyone, I am sure." They had reached the end of the room, and the rest of the family was rising from their seats. "Thank you all so much for coming today," Theodora said with her best matron smile firmly in place. "We so enjoyed having you visit."

"Yes, it was very interesting," Polly said hastily. "We really should be getting home soon, though, Thomas, the children..." she trailed off, content to leave the exact reasons for their departure vague.

"You must bring them along on our next outing, Mrs. Shelby," Theodora offered, directly to Esme, rather than Polly. "We are planning a trip to the countryside in a few months, to give some of our students a bit of fresh air. You would be more than welcome to join us, if you liked. We would be happy to have you."

"Yes, we will think about it," Polly said, again speaking for Esme, who looked as though she'd very much like a trip to the country. There was much scraping of chairs and a final glance around before Polly was packing them all out the door, desperate to leave.

"You shall be hearing from us directly, Miss Carteret," Tommy promised at the front door as the rest of the family loaded themselves back into the cars, ignoring Jasper's whines for another biscuit. "One hundred pounds seems a very reasonable gift in these circumstances."

"We shall ready the gilt paint," Miss Carteret said with a smile, eliciting an amused smile from Tommy. She smiled with him, and then said, in a voice that seemed much different than the one she had used all morning, "It was very nice to meet your family, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy's face froze for a moment, and he contented himself with one last nod and a touch to his hat brim.

Polly, worse luck, had chosen the front seat, the better to bend his ear about whatever long litany of objections she was about to raise. But there were none; the whole ride home was completed in perfect silence from the front seat passenger, though Tommy could feel her beside him bristling with anger.

She did not say a word, in fact, until they reached home, and the coats had been hung up and the hats returned to their pegs. Tommy settled himself into his armchair with the afternoon paper and waited for Polly's patience to wear out.

The room emptied; Arthur said something about going to the Garrison, and Finn disappeared upstairs with his latest acquisition from the local two-penny library.

When everyone else had gone, Polly spoke. "What were you laughing about, back there?"

Tommy paused, letting the paper relax in his hands a little. Of all the questions his aunt might ask, he had not been expecting that one. He hadn't even thought she'd noticed, while they were standing alone in the back of the canteen with their tea. But trust Aunt Polly to retain her suspicion of her nephew and the power of a pretty face.

Was Theodora Carteret pretty? Tommy supposed she was. He'd been too busy trying to guess her game to give it much notice.

But that hadn't been Polly's question.

"She something funny," Tommy said simply, and returned to his paper. The matter was given no more discussion for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

><p>So, one of the things that struck me as I was rewatching Season One trying to pull more bits out for this story is that, the first time I watched this show, I was rooting for Grace, for some reason. Young girl, big city, trying to fight for truth, justice, and revenge. Found myself shouting at the TV set telling her not to get involved with Tommy, who was, as far as I was concerned, a very hot mess that did not need to complicate her life. Second time around, I find myself rooting for Tommy. Family guy, just trying to make his world work, just trying to support the various needs and wants of the people in his life. And my reading of his relationship with Grace changed. The first time, I legitimately thought she just found herself in love with him, but the second, I started wondering if she started cultivating the relationship and then she found she loved him despite her best efforts, and just went with it because she was too far in for any real feeling to make a difference. And that, that studied indifference, is why she leaves at the end without Tommy.<p>

Anyway, the point of this monologue is that if we, as viewers, can come away from re-playing these events with two different readings, how must it play in Tommy's head? Here's a guy who, even before all of this, only really seems to trust his enemies, who at one point seems to know, as we do, that Grace is not really on his team. How must the idea of her keep him up at night?

My thought is that Tommy likes Grace because she represents that golden ideal of moving up in the world, an idea that he seems to be striving towards during the first season. He makes a big deal of her posh accent and uses her voice as a cover during their trip to Cheltenham. At the end of episode five, you see the camera pan through the betting shop, with Tommy smiling like a king in the midst of his business. He also has a lot of time and a lot of respect for the careful planners and keen-minded characters of the series, the Aunt Pollys and Campbells, which exist in strong opposition to the characters that he has to mentally carry, like Arthur. Even after her betrayal, I think he still maintains a kind of respect for Grace (if not an outright love) because he recognizes and respects the skill with which she sold him out without him guessing a thing. He was outplayed, and that doesn't happen often, and a mind like that is attractive to him. The things we love are bad for us, I guess.

If his attraction, then, is to intelligence and careful planning, and his respect is given even to those people he stands in opposition to, then we come to the character of Theodora, who exists to explore those concepts and how they play out. Like Grace, Theodora is on the outside of Tommy's world, and totally different from the other women in his life, except maybe Polly. She represents a totally different standard of life and work that Tommy both despises and longs for at the same time. Now that Shelby Brothers is a legal business, Tommy is looking for a little more middle-class gilding on his life, and philanthropy is going to add that gilt. But Theodora Carteret is going to make him work a little for it.


End file.
